


i toss and turn

by aknightley



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Universe, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aknightley/pseuds/aknightley
Summary: Keith is sick, and someone comes to check in on him.He's just about to try to smother himself again when his door whooshes open. His eyes dart automatically towards the door, and he squints at the figure. It's tall and skinny and dark, which leaves only one person it could be. Lance.His heart does a tiny little kick in his chest, and he has to redouble his efforts not to cover his face again. Of all of the people who would come to check on him, it would be Lance.





	i toss and turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatnipPacket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatnipPacket/gifts).



> This is for Selena, a finished piece for the shorter one I uploaded to tumblr. She wasn't feeling well, and I wanted to make her feel even a little bit better, and it deserved to be more than just a quick 1k fic. I didn't quite mean for it to be _this_ long, but I hope you like it! 
> 
> Title is from Carly Rae Jepsen's "Gimmie Love."

It happens two days after Shiro gives him a pat on the shoulder and says, "You'll be fine." 

He'd been talking about Keith trying to deal with his feelings, but Keith is pretty sure Shiro jinxed him. 

They'd been told to finish gathering biological samples (Hunk and Pidge) and to stay out of trouble (Keith and Lance). Coran was in charge, watching them on a small, uninhabited planet that they were trying to classify for records for the Alliance. Shiro and Allura were meant to stay gone for a week, tops, which was plenty of time for Pidge and Hunk to finish their science stuff, but not enough time for any Galra roaming the system to track them down, especially given the modifications Pidge had made on the shields.

Keith is bored out of his mind for the first day, running his training simulations into the ground for about three hours before finally exhausting his interest in it. After that, he wanders around the castle for a while, looking for something to do, but can't find anyone. Pidge and Hunk are incredibly intent on information gathering, and Coran is observing them while also keeping tabs on Allura and Shiro, so Keith sort of -- doesn't know what to do with himself. The only other person who ostensibly isn't actively working on something is Lance, and Keith can't find him anywhere. He knows that Hunk or Pidge probably know where he is, but there's no way he can actually _ask them_  about it. It would be...weird. 

He finds out later that Lance had spent the day in the pool, having found out from Allura how to properly swim in an upside down swimming pool. Lance seems relaxed and refreshed at dinner, recounting how many laps he'd done and how the pool had been the perfect temperature the entire time. Keith wonders if Lance will do the same thing again the next day, if he'd care again if Keith wanted to swim as well. Their being trapped in the elevator together was a while ago, but Keith isn't sure much has changed since then. 

He doesn't get the opportunity to figure it out, because Pidge and Hunk request their help moving samples the next morning, which means that Keith and Lance bicker good-naturedly and complain together as they're made to carry heavy boxes of bags and tubes and once or twice, a potted plant. 

Keith is used to spending time around Lance at this point, but it never feels any less tense -- it's not a bad kind of tension, the kind that makes him remember his last few days at the Garrison, when his pulse would trip out of control whenever anyone brought up Shiro, when his teachers kept pushing him and berating him for not moving on and moving up, when people started to give him dirty looks for asking too many questions. It's a nervous kind of tension, the kind you get before plunging over a cliff on your hover bike, or when you found dozens and dozens of paintings in caves in the desert, this knowing hum pulsing through you -- it's a wild, giddy sort of tension. 

They spend the afternoon slumped on the couch in the common area, absorbed in their own things. Keith goes back to reading a book he'd borrowed from Pidge, a scifi novel that probably came from the 1970s with cheesy dialogue to match, while Lance plays games on the Altean communicator that they'd found on the ship. It's quiet the whole time, save for Lance's soft exclamations of annoyance or victory. Keith tries to focus on his book, manages maybe a chapter when normally he'd finish three, but he keeps getting distracted by Lance's legs, sprawled across the couch. Lance is apparently allergic to sitting normally on a couch; he shifts into a dozen difference positions over the course of two hours, ending with his head spilled halfway off the seat and one of his legs hooked over the back of the couch. Keith doesn't know why he can't stop glancing at him, especially since he spends nearly every day with those legs, but. He does.

It probably starts with Keith sneezing into his bowl of dinner, although Pidge guesses that he's having a reaction to Hunk's spicy food goo, and Lance cracks a joke about not knowing the difference between the goo and snot. He waves them both off and keeps eating, reassuring Hunk that the food is good. He feels fine for the rest of the night, spends most of it burning off his sudden restless energy by cleaning his room, trying not to be weird when he bumps into Lance in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. When he lays down he falls asleep almost instantly.

When he wakes up, he's halfway certain he's dying. 

Keith makes a soft snuffling noise and tries to bury his head in his pillows, but then he can't breathe properly, so he has to tilt his head to the side. It's not as satisfying, especially because the low lights in the room are making his head hurt, but he can't bring himself to get up to dim them. He lays like that for what feels like hours, drifting in and out of a hazy, heated semi-consciousness. His throat hurts, his stomach is twisting in on itself, and he's pretty sure he's sweated through his sleep clothes, even though he's still shivering.

The last time he can remember feeling like this, he'd been maybe four or five, and his mother had brushed his hair off of his forehead gently, and wiped his face with a cold towel, and sung him songs, horribly off-key but soothing nonetheless. His father had made him homemade soup, and had held his hand when he'd cried out of frustration because he couldn't sleep. 

That had been over ten years ago, though, and Keith has no idea what to do now. 

He's trapped in space, with people who are mostly strangers. The only person he really knows is Shiro, but Shiro is going to be gone another five days. Lance and Pidge and Hunk -- he thinks that they could be friends now, but he doesn't know if they're the kind of friends where he can ask them what he should be doing when he's _dying_. He doesn't even know if he could get up to ask them.

He's just going to lay here until he either succumbs to his inevitable death or magically gets better. There's no other options.

He's about to try to smother himself again when his door whooshes open. His eyes dart automatically towards the door, and he squints at the figure. It's tall and skinny and dark, which leaves only one person it could be. Lance.

His heart does a tiny little kick in his chest, and he has to redouble his efforts not to cover his face again. Of all of the people who would come to check on him, it _would_ be Lance.

"Keith?" Lance asks. "Are you okay? Dude, you look -- are you sick?" He tentatively makes his way closer and closer, until he's right next to Keith, peering down at him with concern.

"No," Keith says. His voice sounds scratchy and weak, but he at least managed to get the word out. 

"Oh my god," Lance says. "You're _really_  sick. How long have you been like this?"

"'m not," Keith says, sounding absolutely pathetic. "Just -- tired." He doesn't know why he's arguing when he's clearly ill, but he doesn't want Lance to stay, to see him looking as horrible as he feels. He's just started feeling like maybe Lance doesn't hate him -- this isn't what he wants Lance to think of when he thinks of Keith. What kind of paladin of Voltron couldn't even handle a cold?

He startles when a cool hand touches his forehead, but it's so soft and calming that he relaxes again almost immediately. Lance leans over him with a furrowed brow, and his hand dips down to cup Keith's cheek. "Keith, you're burning up. Have you taken any medicine?"

"No," Keith murmurs. He wants Lance to put his hand on his forehead again, but there's no way he can ask for it. He tilts his head into Lance's palm though, seeking that cool touch. "You feel good." He smells good too, but thankfully he doesn't say that out loud.

"Oh god," Lance says, sounding strangled. "Let me just -- I'll be right back, okay?"

Keith doesn't have time to say anything before Lance is pulling away and hurrying out of the door. He groans, covering his face with sweaty palms and sighing -- his breath feels like steam against his skin, and he's more dizzy than ever thanks to his heart tripping over and over. When he coughs, it's like daggers in his throat.

There's another whooshing noise, much sooner than Keith would have thought -- or maybe he'd drifted again? -- and then Lance is at his side, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

"Okay," Lance says, "I've got some kind of Altean medicine that Pidge says will work with our biology just fine, it should help with some of your symptoms, and I've got this soup stuff that Hunk made that he swears doesn't even really taste _that much_  like goo anymore, and I grabbed this, too." Keith blinks blearily at him as Lance waves something bright blue in front of him, and then there's something cold and wet on his forehead. It feels so good that he lets out an involuntarily pleased sound, and then feels himself flush when Lance laughs softly.

"My mom always did this," Lance says, adjusting the washcloth so it doesn't drip.

"Mine too," Keith says quietly. Lance smooths his fingertips over the cloth, straightening it out. His hand strays to the side and into Keith's hair, petting the strands into place. For a long moment, the only sound is Keith's heavy breathing. Lance's hand stays in his hair, gently shifting. Keith can smell something warm, like vanilla, and it soothes him into almost closing his eyes and drifting off again.

"Medicine," Lance says firmly after a minute, pulling his hand away. Keith tries not to make another noise, this time protesting, but it's a close thing. "And you should try the soup stuff too. If it's bad then I'll get some kind of vitamin supplement from Coran or something, and I won't say a word to Hunk."

He helps Keith sit up in bed, and Keith leans against the wall, exhausted from being upright. He doesn't think he's ever been this sick in his life. Even blinking feels like it takes too much energy. Lance helps him tilt his head back to keep the cloth from slipping, and then sticks something against his mouth. 

"Swallow," he says. Keith does so automatically. It tastes, strangely, of pineapples and mint. His mouth buzzes a little as it goes down; only a moment or so goes by, but his stomach settles almost immediately after. It's such a stark difference that he actually grabs Lance's hand in surprise. "There," Lance says, looking satisfied. "You look a little better already. That stuff must be really good."

"It did help," Keith admits, letting go of Lance to pull the washcloth away so he can look at him. Lance is fussing with the soup, which is in a thermos, pouring out a small amount into a little bowl. He hands it to Keith, who takes it and tips the bowl up to his mouth, swallowing a little. Hunk is right -- it doesn't quite taste like goo, but it does taste pretty salty, and he coughs a little as it goes down. Lance's hand is against his back almost immediately, rubbing up and down, and it lingers even after Keith's coughing subsides. Keith drains the little bowl and hands it back to Lance. His throat is still sore, but the warm liquid had soothed some of the ache, and his stomach feels less like a gnawing, twisting pit at the base of his gut.

"Thank you," Keith says. Lance's hand falls away from his back and Keith has to swallow his disappointment. 

"Of course, Keith," Lance says, setting the bowl aside. "I wish I'd known sooner that you weren't feeling good."

"It just happened," Keith says quietly. He wants to lay down, but he's kind of afraid he'll fall over if he tries to move too much.  "I'm not used to getting sick." He's not even sure what caused it; he hasn't taken the time to think about it. Probably something on the planet, all of the different samples and stuff they'd been moving. He doesn't know why he's the only one who's been affected, but then, his biology is different from everyone else's. 

"Sick kids were like, the norm at my house, especially since the twins were in preschool. Little kids always seem to pass stuff around." Lance's voice barely even hitches anymore when he talks about his family, but Keith still hears the longing, ever present, like it's a baseline. Lance isn't the only one who wants to be with his family, but sometimes Keith thinks he's the one who wants it the most, maybe even more than Pidge. His longing isn't just for people but for the place, for familiar sights and sounds. He misses the feeling of home, of belonging. 

It's something Keith can relate to, actually. Ever since he realized that the knife his mother had left him was more than just an heirloom, was some kind of legacy, he'd felt...adrift. Nothing felt like home anymore, except maybe piloting Red. All of his memories felt false somehow, like he'd been seeing them through the wrong lens, but he didn't know what the right one was supposed to be. He didn't know anything about who he actually was -- he just knew who he wasn't, and that was the Keith who'd grown up thinking he was normal. 

He doesn't know if Lance would understand it, if he tried to explain. He doesn't think that he really could explain. Words aren't his best friend at the best of times. Still. He wishes he could reach out and touch Lance's back. He wishes he could do anything the right way. 

Lance clears his throat and shakes his head before looking down at Keith, frowning. "I think you should change clothes, and we should change out your sheets. You'll feel better with fresh ones."

Keith stares at him in disbelief. "I think if I tried to stand up I would fall over," he says reluctantly. 

"I'll help you," Lance says easily, and reaches out to tug at Keith's elbow. Keith feels himself going along, like his body can't help but respond to Lance's touch. His legs feel weak when he tries to put weight on them, but Lance's arm goes around his waist to steady him, and he stands with his body pressed all along Lance's for a long moment. Lance is almost ridiculously cool in comparison to Keith, who's been melting in a pile of blankets all day. He has to remind himself that burying his face in Lance's neck would be a bad idea. The vanilla scent is almost overpowering.

Lance helps Keith sit in the chair at his desk, then briskly strips down Keith's bed and remakes it. He's got the military precision that they force into you at the Garrison, but he does it a hundred times better than Keith had ever been able to, and much quicker. Lance fixes the pillows, then turns around and starts digging through Keith's drawers. Keith wants to protest, but he's too tired, and it's not like he has anything hidden in there -- part of him still doesn't quite believe that _Lance_  is in here, taking care of him, and he thinks he would be more embarrassed if he weren't so sick.

"Aha," Lance says triumphantly. "You've got cute little red ones. I was wondering if I was the only one who had pajamas in my room." He waves a pair of pants at Keith, the sleeping clothes that had been left in the room by its last occupant. Keith has just been ignoring them, since using other people's clothing felt strange, but Lance parades around in the blue ones all the time.  

"I have the cat shoes too," Keith says dryly, then feels himself flush hotter when Lance laughs. Lance's laughter lights up his entire face, until Keith almost feels like he's staring at the sunshine itself. He's blinding, a halo of light in a dim and stifling room. Keith hazily thinks he might be the most beautiful person in the universe. He mentally shakes himself, realizing his foggy head is extending into terrible metaphors. 

Lance helps him change out of his pants and shirt, throwing the dirty clothes on top of the sheets. He's too used to being around other people from the Garrison to feel too uncomfortable mostly naked, and Lance seems determined to stare off into the distance while touching him, so it barely registers for him. The worst part is that he feels slightly bereft when Lance stops touching him, but the new clothes feel almost ridiculously soft against his skin, and his sheets, when Lance eases him back into bed, are like cool silk. Keith puts his head on his pillow and exhales, feeling like he could actually fall asleep, really asleep, for the first time since this started. 

Lance disappears for a moment, but then the washcloth is back on his forehead, refreshed and newly cold. "Okay," Lance says, "I've got more medicine for when you wake up, and more soup too. I asked Coran to check and see if there was any more medicine that might work with your biology, since you know, you're not just human. Maybe there's some Galra medicine out there that will help."

"Okay," Keith murmurs, already half-asleep. His eyes are closing almost against his will, lulled by the warmth of Lance's voice. 

"I'll be right here if you need anything, okay?" Lance says, touching Keith's shoulder gently. He runs his hand over the fabric, back and forth, almost like he's doing it unconsciously. 

"You don't -- have to stay," Keith says, struggling to keep from yawning in Lance's face. "'m fine now." 

"Hey," Lance says. "Of course I'm gonna stay. That's what friends do."

Keith's heart valiantly flutters in his chest once more. He feels himself smiling despite himself, despite the aches and the heat and his scattered thoughts, drifting on the edges of sleep, dreams tugging him away. Lance's hand slides up Keith's shoulder and towards his hair again, petting his fringe. 

"Get some sleep," Lance whispers. 

"'kay," Keith breathes. His eyes close, already mostly asleep. He feels young again -- he feels five years old, knowing that you could trust the person taking care of you to make things better. He hasn't had anything like that in such a long time. He doesn't know if he ever expected to have anything like it again. He leans his head into Lance's touch sleepily, and it feels like his mother and father again, and it feels like belonging, and Keith sighs out softly, "Love you." 

Lance's hand goes still, but just for a moment; it quickly picks back up, soothing Keith into a deep, heavy sleep, where he dreams of Lance singing lullabies and holding his hand, of Lance kissing his forehead, of Lance saying, "Love you too." 

He doesn't know how long he sleeps, but when he wakes up, he feels human again. Or whatever he is again. He still aches, and his throat is sore, and his brain is pounding in his skull, but it's miles away from where he was when he went to sleep. He opens his eyes blearily and his breath catches.

Lance is still here, as promised, but he's fallen asleep as well. His top half is slumped onto the bed, his face only inches away from Keith's. Lance is the complete opposite of himself in sleep, completely still and calm, almost serene. His lashes flutter gently as he dreams, and Keith swallows. He can feel Lance breathing on him. He doesn't know that they've ever been this close and not arguing with each other. 

His dreams come flooding back to him all at once, and he can feel his face heat, only barely managing to keep from groaning out loud. It was one thing to like Lance -- it was another to dream about him saying _I love you_. His fever or cold or whatever must have affected him more than he'd realized. He really hopes he hadn't done anything weird in his sleep.

All the same, his dreams had been -- nice. Comforting, the way so few things were now. He can almost still feel the kiss on his forehead, the way Lance had sounded softer than he's ever been before. 

Keith lays there for a while, contemplating going back to sleep, but then Lance makes a small snorting noise and wakes up. His nose wrinkles first, and his lashes flutter again, and then he opens his eyes slowly, blinking. He notices Keith almost immediately, and there's a long moment where they're just looking at each other, inches apart, and Keith thinks, _Wait--_

Lance sits up quickly, running his hands through his hair and smoothing down his shirt, stammering something Keith can't make out about not meaning to fall asleep. 

"Lance," he says quietly -- his voice is a rasp, and he has to repeat Lance's name to get his attention. "Are you okay? I think you might have caught whatever I have." Lance's face is flushed pink, and when Keith tentatively touches his arm, there are goosebumps. 

"I'm fine," Lance says confusedly. "I just -- I didn't mean to fall asleep, I should have woken you up and given you something to drink a while ago. You must be totally dehydrated."

"Kind of," Keith says. His throat clicks when he swallows again. Lance makes a sympathetic noise and stands up, stretching. Keith's eyes stray down the line of his body, an automatic response after weeks of sneaking glances, and then quickly away when Lance looks at him again. 

"I'm gonna get you some food and water, and see if Coran has any other medicine for you. Did you need anything else?"

"I'm okay," Keith says. He's surprised when Lance reaches out and touches his face, palm against his cheek. 

"You're still warm," Lance says. His fingers against his skin evoke butterflies in his stomach, even though Lance has touched him dozens of times before. Keith is barely even surprised by it anymore. He's always torn between wanting to pull away and wanting it to go on forever. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," Keith says. Lance smiles at him and then heads out of the room, leaving behind only the sound of the door whooshing closed and the scent of vanilla. Keith lazes in bed for a few more minutes, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Lance came and took care of him, probably stayed with him for hours. It's more than he ever thought possible with Lance -- he wonders if maybe he's failed to catch up to this change the way he's failed to keep up with all of the other changes in his life. 

Friends, Lance had said. It's somewhat hollow, given his feelings, but it's much better than what he'd thought. 

He manages to drag himself out of bed and to the bathroom, giving his hair a disgruntled look in the mirror, brushing his teeth to get the furry feeling out. He's just contemplating whether or not a shower would be possible when Lance comes back into the room. He's got a tray in his hands, loaded with water and some kind of bright blue liquid and a couple of dark bottles, plus another thermos. When he doesn't see Keith in bed, he looks around quickly, concerned. Keith realizes he's changed into his own set of pajamas, to match Keith's. He's wearing the little cat shoes.

"There you are," Lance says when he catches sight of him. "Feel better?" 

"My mouth tastes better," Keith says. "I have a feeling it might start to taste bad again."

"What?" Lance asks, confused. "Oh, the medicine? Coran swears it's okay. He said Galra and Altean biology is pretty similar, and all of this medicine is supposed to taste really good."

"Coran also thinks food goo tastes good," Keith says. He walks across the room and gets back into bed, taking the tray from Lance when he holds it out. Their hands brush and the butterflies erupt -- Keith swallows them matter-of-factly.

"Point," Lance concedes, laughing. He points points to a bottle with a label in Altean, something deep green. When Keith opens the stopper, it smells of plant bark and dust. "He suggested we try this first, just a tablespoon. This should help with the lingering fever, and hopefully with your headache." 

"How did you know I had a headache?" Keith asks, surprised. 

"You get a little wrinkle," Lance says. "Right here." He reaches out and touches the space between Keith's eyes, tracing lightly. "I've noticed it after some of our fights, when things have been really loud. Uh. I mean." He pulls away sharply when Keith continues to stare at him. "I'm not like, watching, it's just -- obvious." Lance looks flushed again, refusing to meet Keith's eyes. "Let me measure that for you." 

He gives Keith the medicine, which actually worryingly doesn't taste like anything at all, and then hands him the water. Keith drinks half of it in one go, relieved that his throat no longer scratches when he swallows. He doesn't know if the medicine is fast-acting again or if he's just really getting better, and he doesn't really care. Being sick meant feeling helpless, and Keith rarely handles feeling helpless well. 

"Why did you change into your pajamas?" Keith asks, reaching for the thermos. Lance beats him to it and pours him a bowl, handing it to him again. Keith gives him a bemused look, but Lance is too busy putting the lid on the thermos again to look at him. 

"I wanted to be comfortable," Lance says, shrugging. 

"Oh," Keith says, sipping the soup. 

"If we're gonna hang out while you get better, it's gotta be maximum comfort or it's no fun," Lance adds. 

Keith blinks at him. This time, the butterflies come unprompted by touch. "You're -- you're staying?"

"Yeah dude," Lance says, giving him a strange look. "It's no fun to be alone when you're stuck in bed, so I figured we could spend the rest of the day together. I mean -- unless you want to be alone?" He looks uncertain, peering at Keith with his head tilted to the side, almost like a bird. 

And the thing is, Keith _doesn't_  want to be alone. He's never minded being on his own before, the long months in the desert alone would have been unbearable otherwise, but lately -- lately he finds himself seeking out the others, where once he would have retreated to his room. He likes spending time with them, talking to Hunk about all the Galra stuff he can't bring himself to mention to the others, listening to Pidge explain what she's working on because she says he's better at helping her pick out the missing parts. He's always been able to go to Shiro for advice, but now he seeks out Allura as well, and they share stories about their family and she tells him about her home and their history and it's -- helped. Sort of.  

But he hasn't spent a lot of time alone with _Lance_. It seems a too dangerous a distinction to ignore. He wants to spend time with him, but he doesn't know how to. 

"You can stay," he says haltingly. "I just -- what are we supposed to do?"

"Sweet! It'll be like a sleepover. You have been to sleepovers, right?" Lance asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"When I was about seven, yeah," Keith says, raising one back. 

"Very little has changed," Lance assures him. "I grabbed my tablet so we can watch movies, and it has some kind of Altean card game doohickey, Coran says it'll explain itself, and I grabbed your book from the common room and brought it so you can finish it, if you wanted." 

Keith feels warm all over again, feverish, but it's somehow nice. It's a heat that spreads to the tips of his fingers, lingering, and it makes him duck his head when he says, "Okay." 

"Okay," Lance repeats, sounding pleased. He lets Keith finish eating his soup, which is less salty this time, and keeps up a running commentary about how the others have spent their day. Everyone had asked after him, and sent their well wishes, but Lance had convinced them to give him space. Keith is grateful, because as much as he likes everyone, it's bad enough that Lance is stuck taking care of him -- he has no interest in everyone else seeing him while he's so out of it. 

He feels better when he lowers the bowl, and watches as Lance quickly clears the tray out of his lap and settles into the chair he's pulled up close to the bed, thumbing through the tablet. "I figured we could start with trying to figure out the game, and if we can't, then we'll find a movie." He's hunched over as close as he can get, trying to keep the screen where Keith can see it. 

"You can sit up here," Keith blurts out. Lance looks up at him, blinking, and Keith flushes. He's not sure he'll ever get better if he keeps going hot all over just from Lance looking at him.

"Are you sure?" Lance asks. His eyes are distractingly blue, a sky on a cloudless day. Keith's brain is conjuring terrible metaphors again.  He nods rather than reply out loud, and scoots over enough in the bed for Lance to fit up next to him. It's not a big bed, so Keith moves himself as far over as he can get, trying not to crowd Lance. It's inevitable that their legs and hips are touching, but Keith does his best not to notice. 

It takes them the better part of half an hour to figure out how to run the Altean game on the tablet, since Pidge's translation code is still in beta mode, but they manage to figure it out, and spent a solid hour trading wins. Lance always crows when he succeeds, and pouts cutely when he loses, and it never feels anything but joking. It's...fun. Keith doesn't know if it's because he's still too sick to be really nervous, or because he's getting used to being around Lance, but he finds himself laughing more than once. 

By the time they grow bored of the game, Lance's arm is pressed close to Keith's arm, and Keith has slumped slightly and is leaning his head against Lance's shoulder. He doesn't know how they ended up here,but he's too sleepy and too comfortable to really move, and Lance doesn't seem to mind. 

"Wanna watch a movie?" Lance asks. His voice is soft, and when Keith glances up at him, he's got this look in his eyes -- Keith doesn't know how to describe it. _Warm_ is all that comes to mind. He's never seen Lance look at him this way, or really anyone this way. 

"Sure," Keith says. Lance beams and opens up the movie player on the tablet, swiping through Altean melodramas and comedies. He watches as Lance taps away, entranced by his long fingers moving back and forth.  He's a solid presence against Keith's side, angled slightly to make it easier for Keith's head to fit against his shoulder, and Keith just -- likes him, he likes him a lot, more than he ever really imagined he could. He doesn't know when it started, doesn't know how or why, but it's become impossible to ignore. 

"You'll be fine," Shiro had said jokingly, patting him on the shoulder. Shiro couldn't have known that Keith would up like this, curled up in a soft and warm bed with Lance, weak with fever and feelings and hope. 

"How come you--" Keith cuts himself off, suddenly nervous again, but makes himself finish. "How come you're here?" 

He sounds quieter than he'd meant to. Lance lowers the tablet and looks at him again, brow furrowed. 

"I told you earlier, we're friends. I mean -- right? You want to be -- friends?" There's something about the way he says it that tears at Keith, but he can't exactly say _No I want to be more,_ so he nods. "Then yeah, this is what friends do. Take care of each other. Hang out when you're not feeling good."

"I've never -- I've never had that," Keith admits. There's a silence that follows, and Keith realizes that Lance is surprised. He sits up a little, pulling away from Lance's shoulder, feeling silly. Lance makes a soft noise, almost a protest. "Nevermind. What movie did you wanna--"

"You've got that now, you know," Lance says. His voice is firm, maybe louder than he means it to be, because he winces. Keith blinks at him. There's a pink flush spread across the tops of his cheeks, darkening his already brown skin. "You don't have to deal with everything on your own. I know you've got Shiro, and you talk to the others sometimes, but you can -- I'm here too. We're -- we're friends." He looks vaguely disappointed.

"Okay," Keith says awkwardly. 

"Okay," Lance echoes, just as awkward. 

"Did you wanna--"

"Yes," Lance says, lifting the tablet again. His voice is almost a croak. His cheeks are still red. "Right, the movie. We're gonna watch a movie. Because we're friends. Who -- do things like that." 

"Are you okay?" Keith asks. "Did I actually get you sick?" 

"Nope," Lance says quickly. "I'm cool. Here, let's watch this." He jabs randomly at the screen and they bolt jolt a little as it starts projecting a holographic movie into the air in front of them. Whatever allows the castle to translate spoken Altean manages to work on the recording as well, and they sit together and watch the movie quietly. Keith finds it hard to focus on what's going on, because Lance has shifted so that they're touching again, and it's harder and harder to not rest his head against him again.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he opens them again. It takes him a moment to realize that he hasn't just leaned against Lance again, he's completely curled against him, his face tucked against the long curve of his neck. Lance's arm is thrown around his side, and he's breathing in and out slowly, clearly asleep as well. Keith's stomach gives a little twinge, but he's too tired to have too many butterflies. His headache is mostly gone, down to a soft pulse, and his fever feels broken as well. 

He doesn't want to move, so he doesn't. Everything is pleasantly warm, like laying in a sunbeam, and Lance smells so good, like the bakery Keith's mother had taken him to when he was growing up. Being like this is something Keith hasn't even been able to dream about until lately. It feels too good to be true that he's actually here.

He's contemplating putting his hand on Lance's chest, trying to decide whether that would be strange or not, when Lance stirs, making cranky noises. His hand lifts up and smooths over Keith's hair, and he sighs sleepily. 

"Time 'sit?" he mumbles. He doesn't open his eyes, turning his head blindly towards Keith. Keith wants to do stupid things, like count his lashes, or kiss him on his perfect mouth. 

"Don't know," he whispers. Lance's eyes open then, and he seems to wake up quickly. His hand untangles itself from Keith's hair and he stiffens, but he doesn't move away. They just -- stare at each other, for longer than Keith thought possible. His heart is pounding a staccato beat in his chest, hard enough it's almost like it's trying to escape. He wonders if Lance can tell. 

Lance stares back at him, his ocean eyes tripping over all of the individual parts of Keith's face, like he's seeing him for the first time. His breathing is slightly uneven, but he still doesn't move. It's like neither of them can think of what to do, how to react. It's like a spell has fallen over them. 

"How do you feel?" Lance asks softly. His mouth is moving only inches away from Keith's. Keith has never felt better in his life, probably. He thinks he's floating. 

"I'm good," he murmurs. 

"That's good," Lance says, and then yawns. He tries to stifle it, but he can't stop it in time, and Keith laughs under his breath before he can help it. Lance gives him a pout, which only makes him laugh again. He feels warm outside and inside, a blanket of contentment. It's completely different to how he felt before Lance came. 

"Thanks for -- hanging out with me," Keith says. "You're a really good -- friend." He doesn't mean it to sound stilted, but he can't help it. 

Lance stops pouting to look at him. His eyes narrow a little, a familiar sight; it makes Keith think of how he looks before a fight, or before he throws himself in between danger and a friend. It's the look that says Lance is going to do something wild and ridiculous and wonderful, and he's not stopping to think about it. 

Keith only has time to open his mouth before Lance leans in and kisses him. It's off center, because Keith hadn't been expecting it, barely a press of his mouth, but it's -- it's real, Lance kissed him. Lance kissed him even though he hadn't known they were friends until today, and even though Keith is sick, and even though Keith is _Keith_. 

"What," he asks, but it's not really a question. Lance smiles at him crookedly, sighing. He's shifting, trying to pull away, and Keith can't let that happen. His head is spinning, almost like he's getting sick all over again. The butterflies are multiplying by the second.

"I just -- we can be friends, yeah. I want to be friends. But I also want--" 

"More," Keith says, and he's finishing the sentence and making his own, because he wants more, wants Lance, and he leans in and kisses Lance. Lance, ever adaptable, always quick on his feet, kisses back immediately, hand winding around Keith's neck and tilting his head slightly, softening the angle. It's not a perfect kiss, because Keith still feels weak and tired, and Lance is smiling too wide, and they're both shyer and less sure than usual. This feels tenuous, and wonderful, and scary, and right. 

When Keith opens his eyes again, Lance is grinning at him. It's the sun and the stars and oceans and everything else beautiful in the universe that Keith doesn't think he'll ever be able to say out loud. Metaphors are for books; he can think of other things to do with his mouth.

"You're really gonna get sick now," Keith says, sighing. 

"I'll just stay here with you," Lance says, sighing indulgently. "I think somehow I'll survive."

"I suppose I have learned from the best," Keith replies wryly, prompting Lance to snort. He clears his throat, resting his open palm against Lance's chest -- his heart is beating quickly despite his calm expression. Keith pretends not to notice, even though it makes him feel better. "What now?" 

"Now," Lance says, "I'm going to go grab us some more food, and we'll get you some more medicine, and I'll find another movie. Or we can just sleep."

Keith hadn't been talking about what they were going to be doing now, but he realizes that he doesn't really care about what this all means, what comes next for them. He's spent too much of his time wondering about his place in the universe, about what he is to each and every person he cares about most. This is something easier than all of that. He trusts Lance to take care of him.

"That sound okay?" Lance asks, tilting his head.

Keith smiles at him, and keeps holding his hand over Lance's heart, and says, "It sounds perfect." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr at [apvrrish](http://apvrrish.tumblr.com), and on twitter [@apvrrish](http://twitter.com/apvrrish).


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